Life in my country

From my humble beginnings.

 “I was a consultant on livestock. I major in Cow operations, Feedlots, Backgrounding, plus i am a cattle whisperer.”

Content with the little i had. I tended to my cattle, prayed to my God. All was fine by me.

But my goverment never cared. They plundered my nation’s resources. I could cope no longer with the strife, the insult.  So i moved to the big city in search of  a better life.

But life wasn’t better. Still i was content.  

But my goverment never cared. They built private houses with public money. Money that is partly mine.

Business was slow. Of course it was, they were millions like me trying to do good. Trying to make ends meet. Trying to ignore the insult.
So I switched jobs. And i got caught.

How come i got caught. Not one government person has been caught. Not fair. 


“I am a professional mass transit facilitator.”

That’s what i call myself. “I am not a conductor, what am i conducting?” But the people insist. And they add that i am nothing. They insult me. 

But when I was hungry and tempted and acted. I got caught. And they threatened to set me alight.

“Set them alight” i said.  But none understood me. Poor illiterate me.

“I am a successful Refuse disposal operator. Success is relative. I am my own boss too.”

Life has not been fair. But has it ever been? I understand that perfectly. What i don’t understand is my government. Thieves. How do they do it without being caught?

i figure it out and switch jobs.

I strategize. 

I take their money, they love me for it. Anybody insults me, my people insult them on my behalf. Just like my government.

Life’s not fair. But when has it ever been?

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Time…

I stumbled on this piece  by a friend, Henrietta Obinyan, and thought heck, a must share!
Henrietta has the best afro in Italy!
OK enough…
Read the piece.

Time
The importance we place on time differs in different societies.
The picture always look like everyone is busy with their time, but busy is relative.
One’s concept of busy is different from another.
A dream reminded me of various encounters, mostly in Nigeria…
Time is useless in Nigeria.
Everyone may look busy, but more often than not, they are busy taking their time.
Lagos looks very busy…busy wasting your time.
No one expects anyone to be on time. Everyone excepts the other to respect their time.
A public transporter will tell a passenger “I’m not going to that place, it’s too far” but will wait an hour to get a different passenger going where he wanted.
Board a faulty taxi, other passengers will talk you into being patient with the driver.
In Nigeria, no one can rely on an arrangement without taking into consideration, time factor. But, hear…
Time is constant everywhere, people are the disruptive elements.
Managing time properly is wealth.
Then, health.

See, what did I tell you? Her afro is awesome!

Time…

I stumbled on this piece  by a friend, Henrietta Obinyan, and thought heck, a must share!
Henrietta has the best afro in Italy!
OK enough…
Read the piece.

Time
The importance we place on time differs in different societies.
The picture always look like everyone is busy with their time, but busy is relative.
One’s concept of busy is different from another.
A dream reminded me of various encounters, mostly in Nigeria…
Time is useless in Nigeria.
Everyone may look busy, but more often than not, they are busy taking their time.
Lagos looks very busy…busy wasting your time.
No one expects anyone to be on time. Everyone excepts the other to respect their time.
A public transporter will tell a passenger “I’m not going to that place, it’s too far” but will wait an hour to get a different passenger going where he wanted.
Board a faulty taxi, other passengers will talk you into being patient with the driver.
In Nigeria, no one can rely on an arrangement without taking into consideration, time factor. But, hear…
Time is constant everywhere, people are the disruptive elements.
Managing time properly is wealth.
Then, health.

See, what did I tell you? Her afro is awesome!

To mind or not to mind. Part II

And that was how we grew into young adults. We had friends in other neighborhoods but ours. We silently showed off our achievements. We didn’t ask dad to stop the car to pick up Tom who was walking in the heat of the day. “let his father buy their own car“.
We saw our childhood friends in the University and it was awkward. Eventually we could only talk about our childhood. Although we saw each other every other day in the last ten years.

We couldn’t picture building our own house without having it fenced round. We couldn’t picture our future neighbours for they were never going to be in the picture.

Fast forward to now. Many have their own families. Some residing in beautiful estates having rows of bungalows with low walls and flowers and yet we are considering raising the walls. We don’t want to see our neighbours, we don’t want them to see us. We don’t want to see their house, they don’t have to see ours. They don’t have to know what improvements we’ve made on our house. Their roof is fine, we can see their roof, they can see our roof too, no problem with that. So let’s raise the fence to roof level.
We all want a car. Even when we can’t afford it. We never gave it a thought to share our neighbour’s car with them. Even when said neighbours wouldn’t mind. But we carry the ‘what would they be saying about me?‘ around with us, so we can’t. So we save, we strain, we suffer.

Our kids somehow happen to find themselves playing with the neighbour’s kids and we stand by the window, watching, fuming, till we can’t take the love anymore. We step out the house and call out to our kids. “Junior, come inside“. To make it look like we mean no harm, we add “come and eat” or “they’re showing cartoon“. Sometimes we then have to drag the reluctant child inside with a fake smile on our face.

To mind or not to mind

Minding one’s business is a good thing. It also is a bad thing.
Growing up in Festac Town I saw the merits and demerits of either of both.
Around the mid eighties the people of that town visited their neighbours, they knew each other by name, their kids went over to play, mothers offered food in and out of festivals, there were hearty discussions during sanitation day – every last Saturday of the month. And most of all, someone else’s parent scolded and even beat you if you did wrong. When we got back from school before mummy we simply went over to the next flat and stayed there till mummy came.

People got all up in your business and that was not good. Everyone knew when you needed help and they offered it. It was a bad way of life, imagine everyone knowing your condition.

Anyway…

By the mid nineties things had changed for the better: Fences came up around buildings, neighbours became ‘busy’, kids were told to stay away from other people’s houses, food that was seldom offered suddenly became ‘laced with witchcraft’, and no parent dared to beat a child that wasn’t theirs. Sanitation day saw fewer, less enthused participants. The only chitchat was about the security of the immediate surrounding.

build fences, erect gates, hire security guards, etc. Only after the talks were done with did anyone talk about the other’s family. And it usually didn’t go beyond “greet your family for me“.

Then if you happened to get home before mummy you had to wait in front of your house. Peradventure you got to wait in your neighbour’s house, you had to remember to refuse the food or drink they offered, if they offered. And when mummy returned and you got in your house the first question was “what did they give you to eat?“. Your answer to that determined where you sat in church the following Sunday and if you had to have a one on one with your pastor.
By the late nineties, childhood friends had become unfamiliar teenagers.

People

People like life, but they don’t  know how to live. They only know how to breathe.
There’s no ‘leave and let live’.

Little wonder people die. People hate the truth and crave the lie. People ignore the logs in their eye.

People want money, people want fame, people always seek for someone else to blame.

People hate offices. No, people love offices, It’s the job that embarrasses. All cos of a series of easier choices.

People hate beggars but love takers. They are puppets in the  hands of lawmakers.

keep the earth!
kill the earth!
Has been the argument since birth.

The goal is always to be well-off financially; automatically or eventually. People. People like life, but they don’t really.

flowery life

image

Got this photo from a friend who got it from a friend. Like her I think whoever had the time to do this has a beautiful soul. That person needs to be kidnapped and have their genes tapped for onward replication and distribution. Cloning should be made legal long enough to produce more of his or her kind.

That being said, I recall this tree from my childhood. I’m sure I’ve written about it before too.
Festac Town was lined with those trees when I grew up there. I still have no idea what the name is but in season we had the flowers all over the place; sidewalks, main roads, everywhere. Little children used them as part of the ingredients for ‘papa and mama’ soup, toppings on their cakes, and they served as brooches for their dresses and whatever they call it for their ears. Me and my peers just plucked the petals while we cooled off from murdering lizards, and the older teens added them to their love letters.

Before I knew the rose as a symbol of love I knew this flowery life.